King of The Arcade
by Insanitoon
Summary: Matt's flying over to England because he's fed up with playing nooby DDR-ers in Japan, but he gets more than he bargained for when he reaches London.


A/N: Hi guys! I haven't been on FF for a while, but I decided to edit and upload this FF that I wrote a few months ago. I really loved writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note, or anything affiliated with it. Nor do I own _anything _mentioned in this FF - except for the actual piece of writing itself.

**King of the Arcade:**

I looked out of the aeroplane window –blue ocean as far as the eye could see. Clouds drifted slowly across the great cerulean expanse before me. The peace was almost palpable.

To be honest, I was getting pretty fed up with it. 20 hours staring at clouds was the furthest thing from my idea of fun.

Worse, I was dying for a cigarette. The 'No Smoking' sign glared at me from its post on the wall. I glared back.

The issue of smoking aside, I loved flying -travelling in general, actually. I hated being in one place or doing one thing. Drifter: that's me defined in a word. It's a good thing that 'ole Matty boy has hardly any friends, isn't it? The poor idiots would hardly ever see me.

But I was quite fine with that. When you've got just a few _rich_ friends back home you don't have to worry too much about work. L and Watari were probably worth billions between them, but I'd never asked –I didn't want them to stop 'lending' me money. That is to say, lending me money that they know I'll never pay back.

Incidentally, I was flying first class. I liked first class. The armchairs that are given the misnomer of mere 'passenger seats' are even more comfortable than those at the glitzy hotels L stays at –but I wouldn't expect a guy who sits on his _feet_ to know or indeed care about comfortable armchairs.

I was flying to the U.K. I heard that it was a lovely country –much like good 'ole J-Pan: green, grassy plains, a hilly mainland and a rich geological heritage. But I wasn't going there for any of that, oh hell no.

I was going there for 'Dance Dance Revolution'.

People were too easy to beat back in Japan. I was always challenged by nooby idiots who thought that aceing 5 foot tracks was an achievement. I would always choose a track that was rated at 10 feet, and they would always fuck up so badly that they'd almost _sprint _out of whatever arcade I was demolishing at the time.

I was getting fed up with it, so I decided to fly over to England, a place supposedly crammed full of arcades, to see if they were any better over there.

I doubted they would be. Nonetheless, I was interested in seeing if English people really did have awful teeth.

-

Eventually my plane landed, and I checked in at a hotel that would have impressed even L, the pseudo-hotel critic. It had massive lobbies, massive hallways, hell, massive everything! En-suite bathrooms (absolutely essential), and sensuously soft carpeting. The marble pillars were a nice touch, and I liked the red, silken bed covers in my room –five thousand pounds well spent, I'd say.

I soon walked out into London's bustling streets. I didn't get a single look from people despite my striped top, red hair and colourful goggles. It was as if people like me were normal in London; something both cool and disturbing at the same time. It gave me hope - maybe there were other people in London as good on the dance machine as I was; that, or the city was simply full of freaks.

I wandered aimlessly through the congealed mass of human flesh –I knew that I was somewhere near an arcade, but I hadn't bothered to check where it was –laziness is one of my more defining traits. I wandered past what looked like fenced park, and, just as I was losing hope, I found it.

The Trocadero.

This was it. It was humungous – it must have been the biggest arcade in Britain. I walked in, no, I strode in; I felt so full of energy I thought I might explode at any moment. And when I saw the inside of it –God, when I saw it- what a sight it was. Lights flashed, machines beeped and buzzed liked crazed insects; both kids and adults alike ran and rushed about wildly, bouncing from machine to machine like pinballs. A stall selling fake tattoos sat in front of an escalator. The man running it was a balding, bulky man. He gave me an odd look as I headed toward an escalator.

I went up the escalator, a sign above my head screamed –TROCADERO- in bright multicoloured neon. Pipes and rods and metal objects coiled around the many different levels and platforms in the wondrous place. A rainbow of lights shone down onto the busy gamers, highlighting them and the machines that were eating their money in purple, green, red and pink, to name few.

I hunted around the mechanised jungle –looking for the electronic beauty that was the dance machine –the trap with which I could catch my prey. Then I found it. Hidden away in a dark corner of the arcade like a drug addict's hideout. A pair of spotlights lit up the metal stage –the bars at the back looked used; they had a seductive dull sheen to them. I was mesmerised.

It was time to dose myself up on DDR.

I walked closer –the learner video shone out of its massive screen.

I pulled a pound coin out of my pocket –the face of a regal old woman was imprinted on it in profile. I pushed it into the machine and it lit up with one credit. I chose some slower tracks, 'Love Shine', 'Speed over Beethoven' and 'Hyper Eurobeat'.

I easily danced to the rhythm of each song, completing each track without ever missing an arrow. I entered my nickname into the high-score board –MJ- noticing that the person directly above me (i.e. numero uno) was a guy (or gal) called M.

'_Not very original, are you M?'_

I was shoved out of my thoughts by a loud, obnoxious voice.

"Hey you!" It called.

'_The English equivalent of a noob.' _I laughed mentally, relishing the thought of thrashing a whole arcade's worth of cocky newbies –cocky _English _newbies to boot.

I turned around. Before me stood a tall-ish thin guy whose blonde hair came down in what was almost a bobbed haircut. He wore leather –only leather. His leather pants clung to his skinny legs, and his leather jacket broadened what were probably slender shoulders. He was tearing bits off of a chocolate bar with his teeth and wearing one of those arrogant, smug looks that people who lose a lot like to wear.

"Yeah?" I rebuked, my Japanese accent coming through as loudly as a foghorn.

"You've got some guts, getting on the Dancing Stage in this arcade." He had a tinge of an American accent in his voice. Where was he from?

The blonde person continued, "Who are you?"

"I'm Matt." I replied, trying not to lose my cool.

His face screwed up in confusion, "Matt?" he said, not attempting to hide his derision, "You don't sound English."

God this guy had some nerve.

"That's because I'm not, smartass, I'm from Japan."

The blonde kid broke out in laughter.

"Smaaat –assu" he mimicked, barely able to form the words amidst guffawing laughter.

I was pissed now -no way was I taking this kind of shit from some blond shemale.

"Shut it bitch," confidence on my part, "talk is cheap. If you think you're so hot, beat me on the dancing stage."

'_Now I've got him.' _

"Fine, you're on." Bobbed-head said, barely managing to subdue his laughter as he set his unfinished chocolate bar down on the side of the machine.

I pulled down my goggles, a feeling of raw machoistic power surged through my body –I had to win, I was _going_ to win.

'_I'm a dancing _God_. I'll show this mouthy bitch how to kiss my red hot boots.'_

I put one pound into the machine –he did the same, and then we were choosing the tracks.

I thought I'd start him off easy, lure him into a false sense of security before throwing PARANOiA survivor MAX on his ass.

"Shall we start off with 'Candy?" I suggested.

_'Nice 'n easy at first.'_

Bobbed-head wasn't satisfied,"What are you, a noob?"

I looked back at him in shock –I couldn't believe that someone had actually said that to me, to _me_, the guy that never lost at any Dancing Stage game. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to retort "You wish; I chose this track to make it easy for _you_, Barbie."

He didn't like that; he started grinding his teeth together so hard that _I _could hear it.

He changed the track to 'Tsugaru Apple mix' and selected Heavy difficulty, punctuating his choice with, "Suck this motherfucker."

At first I thought that he must have chosen it just to save face. But then the track came on, and God were his feet fast. I didn't need to see them to know it, I could _hear_ how perfectly he was connecting each step; he ended on a 574 step combo – five hundred and seventy four in a fucking row! I thought I was the only one who could do that!

And he wasn't even panting.

"Too easy." He said, smirking.

I was inclined to believe him.

Was this M?

I didn't say anything –what was there to say? Sorry sir, I'm a complete dick for underestimating you, may I kiss your ass?

He didn't bother asking me if I wanted to choose a track –he just went right ahead and chose Cartoon Heroes Speedy Mix.

It was a bitch of a track –there were dozens and dozens of quarter notes.

Was he really that good? Going by the last track, I was leaning toward the 'Fuck Yes' category.

Cartoon Heroes started playing; we jumped into action like mannequins being picked up by a puppeteer. Our feet clacked and smacked and banged against the dance stage –we looked like Irish waterdancers in squeaky sneakers –the Japanese guy with the red hair and the American-English shemale with the golden bob.

We jittered all over the place as we tried to keep in with the beat –neither of us missing a step as the arrows sped past the screen from bottom to top.

'_Jesus.'_

When it finally ended I was panting and covered in sweat; he wasn't even sweating.

Scary.

He took a bite from his chocolate bar –I seized my chance and chose PARANOiA survivor MAX.

_'Now you're mine, bitch! No one has ever beaten me on this track, no one!'_

He glanced at my choice nonchalantly.

"Tha'f nothing. I'll beach your aff." He said through a mouth full of chocolate.

Then it began. The hardest track on any Dancing Stage in existence.

We danced _in sync_, our feet hitting each arrow with a joint _clack_. Every left, every right, every combination imaginable (and it threw just as many at us). The music blared out of the machine as we moved to the beat –I wasn't aware of anything but my body, the music, and the arrows that blazed across the screen in front of me. I was in the zone.

My hair flew in front of my eyes; I let it hang there –I was leaning on the bar behind me now, and I couldn't afford to let anything break my focus.

Then it happened. The blonde dude timed one step badly and only got a 'Great' –just one step in the many we had both hit perfectly thus far, and I was winning. He must have kept on dancing till it ended, because I didn't hear him stop. Maybe he thought that I'd slip too.

I didn't, but when I saw his face, a part of me wished I had. He reminded me of a Bulldog or a Rottweiler at moment -baring his teeth in anger and almost foaming at the mouth.

He managed to speak coherently; but only barely, "Stupid Japanese prick!"

That was all I heard before he punched me squarely between the eyes –knocking me completely unconscious.

-

Eventually I woke up. Everything swam around before me like a bad water painting, but I could make out a white blob directly above me. I didn't know what the hell it was at first –I thought it might have been some kind of jacked-up lighting shit, but then things became clearer and I saw that it was a kid. One hell of a kid too –his hair was bright white –I'll be damned if_ I_ can find a hairdresser who can bleach hair that well.

I opened my mouth to speak –garbled nonsense ran out of my mouth like an escaped lunatic out of an asylum. I closed my mouth before it could defame me further.

'_Goddamn grogginess… Who was that blonde guy anyway, and where the hell has he gone? That motherfucker… More importantly, did I get to enter my high score?'_

I looked up at whitey groggily through my goggles. He simply stared down at me, completely straight-faced.

"Are you all right?" He asked in a level voice.

"Yeah." I replied, "Do you want to play Dance Dance Revolution with me?"

---

I wrote this after playing DDR for 3 hours straight XD I hope you enjoyed it - I certainly enjoyed writing it.

Thanks for reading.

-Insanitoon


End file.
